


set your world on fire (every once in a while)

by blake0tyler



Series: set your world on fire [1]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Domestic, F/F, Somehow this also got hot, They're really in love okay, friends to lovers i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 15:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20084641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blake0tyler/pseuds/blake0tyler
Summary: “You love wearing my clothes. Just admit it.”“I will not.”“My clothes are your favorite clothes.”“Your clothes are my favorite clothes when they’re on the floor of my bedroom, baby.”//4 times Tobin wears Christen’s clothes, and 1 time it’s the other way around.





	set your world on fire (every once in a while)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 
> 
> This started out as really soft™, and got increasingly more out of control along the way. I proofread this, like, only once, so sorry for any mistakes! (Should I maybe stop writing 10k fics every 3 days and actually try and get a full 8 hours of sleep? Idk). 
> 
> Title from “Best That I Can” by Vance Joy.

:::

**one.**

:::

“I’m just saying, maybe you should skip training today.”

“Really, I’m fine…”

“Tobin, you’re _shivering_—”

“Heaths don’t get sick. We’re immune to everything.”

Christen narrows her eyes. “That might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” She exhales slowly, shaking her head as she reaches for her cup of coffee. For a moment, it seems like she will let it go, but then she slams the cup back onto the table with just slightly too much force. “I just don’t understand why you’re being so difficult about this. Just go back up to the room and sleep for a bit longer. Jill won’t mind if you miss out on _one _training.”

“But—” Tobin groans a little, feeling the pressure on her temples increase. “I’m really feeling fine.”

She’s not.

She’s feeling like shit.

But Christen doesn’t need to know that.

“Tobin…” There’s a worried edge to Christen’s voice that almost makes Tobin shiver more—she doesn’t really understand why—but then Christen reaches forward and holds her cool fingers against Tobin’s forehead, and the feeling instantly skyrockets. “You’re burning up…”

Tobin’s breathing sort of stutters; she can see the slight frown of annoyance between Christen’s eyebrows at the fact that Tobin’s not listening to her; the way she’s biting down on her bottom lip as she studies Tobin up-close; her face suddenly only a breath away, her eyes so—

—_pretty_.

Tobin swallows hard. “I’m really okay,” she says, but it sounds more like a whisper. 

Christen pulls her hand back slowly. “If you say so… But, please, eat some breakfast at least. I’m worried.”

Despite everything—despite the pounding headache, and her sweaty skin, and the nausea—Tobin can feel the corners of her mouth curl up.

She forces some confidence into her smile. “Don’t worry, Press. We both know I’ll outrun you during practice any day.”

Christen rolls her eyes, tries not to smile.

:::

She does _not _outrun Christen during practice.

She collapses after fifteen minutes and blacks out completely.

:::

“Come on.”

“I really don’t need any help with—”

“Stop fidgeting!”

“Chris, I can do it myself…”

Tobin tries to swat Christen’s hands off her soccer cleats, but even the slightest effort shoots another wave of pain through her head. She groans in frustration, falls back on the bed, pushing her hands against her temples, as Christen unties her laces and pulls her cleats off her feet.

Tobin’s whole body is trembling.

She’s pretty sure she’s got a fever.

She’s also pretty sure that this is the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to her.

“I’m not sick,” she tries. “Really, Chris, I’m _not_. Heaths don’t—”

Christen’s head snaps up. “If you say that one more time, I’m not speaking to you anymore.”

Tobin falls silent. Christen is pulling the covers that are on top of their shared hotel bed out of the way. Her face is all serious, mouth pulled tight with worry; loose strands of hair falling out of her ponytail; shaking hands.

It makes Tobin’s heart ache a little bit. “I just don’t want you to miss practice for me…” she mumbles.

Christen’s exhale is a little shaky, and she’s fidgeting with her hands, like she barely even heard what Tobin said. “Can’t believe you just blacked out like that,” she’s saying, urging Tobin to get higher on the bed so her head is resting against the pillows. “Can’t believe you told me not to worry and then—” Her voice catches, like she might cry.

The rush of guilt is almost more painful than the headache. “Chris…” 

“You’re going to stay in bed,” Christen says, then, a little harshly—forcing the emotion down before Tobin can say something else. “And you’re going to sleep. And you’re going to stop acting like a child and let me take care of you, okay?”

Tobin swallows hard, then nods slowly. Her whole body is aching; from the muscles in her legs all the way to her temples. She shivers again. Her throat is tight, and she feels vulnerable, all of a sudden, like she might break if she speaks up—which is just… Doesn’t make sense—

But somehow, the sight of Christen looking like she’s seconds away from an anxiety attack makes her whole body contract with pain.

She reaches blindly for Christen’s hand.

After a second, Christen grabs it.

“Sorry,” Tobin croaks out. “I’m—I’m bad with this.”

Christen’s whole face softens instantly. She reaches forward and strokes her fingers over Tobin’s cheek, resting her palm there for a second.

“I know,” she whispers. “That’s why I’m here.” She’s silent for another moment, her eyes still wide with worry, before adding, softly, “Go sleep…” 

Tobin can’t fight back, anymore. She closes her eyes.

:::

It gets worse before it gets better.

When Tobin wakes up, it feels like she’s drowning; her whole mind is foggy. Her skin hurts all over and it’s like there’s no sound going to her ears—only sharp pain piercing through the center of her skull. She’s sweating, not really able to clear her vision. She tries to open her eyes wider but the light hurts even more.

_Hey_, she thinks she hears Christen say. She feels cool and steady hands against her cheek, her neck, back to her cheek. Feels the blankets being pulled tighter around her.

She imagines things. She imagines Christen being right next to her on the bed saying, _I’ve got you, I’m here. _Saying, _you can just sleep, I’ll stay right here_.

Everything hurts.

:::

The second time she wakes up, Christen is the one who is asleep.

It takes Tobin a moment to realize she’s not alone in the bed. Her soccer kit is gross and sticky, and she’s shivering. Somewhere in the past hours—has it been more than that?—she must have kicked her blankets off, because they’re crumpled together to the side, and Tobin is suddenly feeling very cold. Reaching over to pull on the covers, her body stills.

Christen is right next to her, curled into the pillow on the other side of Tobin’s blankets, fingers tightened on the fabric almost like she was holding onto them. She’s fast asleep.

Tobin’s breathing speeds up just the slightest bit. 

From here, she can see Christen’s face so clearly; the soft, thin hairs by her temples; the dark of her eyebrows; the lines of her nose and her jaw and her mouth—

She knows she’s looking—

And it feels close and intimate and—

Christen shifts, and Tobin is so startled by it that she’s already rolling over, forcing herself to sit upwards before Christen realizes Tobin was _staring_.

Instantly, pain shoots through her skull.

_Fuck_.

She presses her hands to her face, and then Christen’s voice breaks the silence, sleepy and raspy in a way that should _not _be having this effect on Tobin’s heart. “You’re awake…”

Tobin coughs. “Yeah—uh, just woke up.”

Christen sits up, too, puts her hand on Tobin’s back. “How are you feeling?”

Tobin jerks a little bit at the touch. Suddenly, she’s embarrassed. Embarrassed to look like this—all dirty and sweaty and shaking—in front of Christen. Who is so…

So—

“Don’t do that.” Tobin forces a laugh. “I’m gross.”

Christen shifts closer instead of pulling back. “You’re not gross, you’re sick.”

Tobin groans in protest, but it sounds a little weak. Christen’s fingers are stroking soft circles over the back of Tobin’s neck, right under her hair, and it makes her break a little bit more.

“It hurts, Chris,” she says, voice all tight. “My whole body hurts—and I’m so— I’m so tired and… and shaky…”

“What do you need?” Christen says. “What do you feel like? Do you want to sleep some more?” Tobin shrugs. “Maybe take a shower?”

She thinks on that for a second, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. A shower sounds good.”

Christen smiles softly. “Okay.”

:::

It clears her head a little bit. The steady stream of water against her back, her shoulders. She closes her eyes and tries to relax into the feeling, tries to breathe a little lighter. She scrubs herself clean and washes her hair—and it _does _help. It feels like her body settles a bit—both in terms of temperature and in terms of pain.

When she turns the shower off, there’s a soft knock on the door.

“Everything okay?” Christen’s voice sounds a little distant through the closed door, but it makes Tobin smile, anyway.

“Yeah,” she says, “That was good.”

“Did you drink some water? Does it feel like you’re going to pass out again?”

Maybe, if it had been anyone else—if it had been Alex or Kelley or Emily checking up on her like that—she’d be slightly annoyed at all the attention. She’d brush off their concern and tell them to stop treating her like a baby, already.

But not with Christen.

Christen, who is very deliberately missing soccer practice just to make sure Tobin doesn’t collapse in the shower.

Christen, who noticed first that Tobin’s cough from a few days ago wasn’t really going away.

Christen, who is here, even when Tobin is too damn stubborn to really give into that.

“I’m good,” she says. “Thanks, Chris.”

“Okay,” Christen says, and Tobin swears it sounds a little relieved. “I’m going to grab you some food downstairs, okay? I’ll just be a minute.”

Tobin hears the door fall closed. She grabs a towel and dries herself off, before walking back into the hotel room. She takes a clean pair of underwear from her suitcase and then hesitates for a second. Her skin is sensitive; clean but still a little tight. She doesn’t really feel like wearing any of her regular clothes. She feels like wearing something soft.

She searches her bag for a nice t-shirt, finally settles on an old, grey Nike one that she’s had for a few years already. Pulling it up over her head, she looks around for a pair of shorts or something.

As she turns, her eyes catch on the Christen’s pair of sweatpants that are lying on the edge of the bed—the soft, black ones she was wearing yesterday evening.

Tobin hesitates.

Maybe it’s the fever. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s still not thinking clearly, but as soon as she sees the sweats, she feels like there’s really nothing else she wants to wear. When she pulls them on, the fabric feels worn, a little warm, but super comfortable.

She climbs back into bed again, laying her head against the pillow.

She’ll close her eyes.

Just for a second.

Just until Christen is back.

:::

She wakes up, again.

Christen is up on the bed next to her, scrolling through her phone.

“Hey.” She smiles softly when she notices that Tobin has opened her eyes. At the sight of Tobin’s disoriented expression, she grins a little. “Sleeping beauty—awake once again.” 

Tobin yawns, tries to hide her smile in the pillow. “You’re a dork.”

Christen feigns shock. “Excuse me? This dork got you freshly squeezed orange juice and grilled cheese sandwiches, okay? This dork is way too good of a friend for you.”

At the mention of food, Tobin wakes up properly. “Okay, I take it back,” she says. “You’re an angel.”

Christen’s smile instantly turns a little bit shy. Before Tobin can comment on it, she’s already jumping off the bed, walking over to the desk to grab the food. “Do you want me to warm these up?”

Tobin shakes her head. “No, thanks. I like them cold, too.” Noticing Christen’s expression, she smirks. “What? What’s wrong with that? It’s just like cold pizza.”

Christen’s hand is on her hip and she is trying not to smile. “Now who’s the dork?” She drops down on the bed again. “You’re feeling a little bit better?”

Tobin nods, taking a large gulp of the orange juice. “Way better. Thanks, Chris. What time is it?”

“Around 7.”

“Wow,” Tobin says. “You’ve really been here the whole day?”

It slips out before she can stop herself, and suddenly, Christen is blushing. She shrugs a little, plays it off like it’s no big deal. “Yeah, well, someone had to make sure you didn’t pass out again and knock your head against a chair or something.”

Tobin’s smile turns slightly smug. “You’ve been here all day,” she states. 

Christen rolls her eyes. “Can’t afford to have you benched at the next game, that’s all. Are those mine?”

She arches her eyebrow at the pair of sweats that Tobin’s wearing.

“Oh—uh.” Now Tobin’s the one who’s slightly flustered. “Yeah, I… I guess I wasn’t paying attention when I put them on.” 

It’s a full-on lie, but whatever.

“You know that’s my favorite pair, right?”

There’s something sort of teasing in Christen’s voice when she says it, and if Tobin didn’t know any better she’d say it almost sounds… almost sounds—

—_flirty. _

The thought makes her stomach flip. She plays a little with the strings on the waistband. “Do you, uh, want them back?”

Christen shakes her head, climbing up on the bed until she’s leaning into the pillows that are propped up against headboard. “Nah, you can wear them for now. You’re sick.”

“Heaths don’t get—”

Christen smacks one of the pillows against Tobin’s legs. “Don’t you dare.”

“Hey!” Tobin grins. “You can’t hit me. I’m sick.”

Christen shakes her head. “I liked you better when you were sleeping.”

Tobin nudges her leg. “That’s a lie.”

“Whatever—I’m going to watch soccer. Eat your food.”

Christen grabs the remote of the tv, leans deeper into the pillows. She’s smiling as she does it, though, and Tobin’s whole body lights up.

“Chris?” she says after a second.

Christen hums. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Christen doesn’t say anything back, but she brushes her pinkie against Tobin’s hand for a moment, keeping it right there on the mattress between them.

:::

Later, when they’re falling asleep, Tobin gets cold again, despite the fact that they’re under the blankets. When she shivers for the fourth time, Christen doesn’t even say anything, just gets up, flicks on the light for a moment, rummaging through her pile of clothes until she’s pulled out a red Stanford sweatshirt. Tobin is way too sleepy to make a witty remark about college soccer. She pulls the sweatshirt over her head and inhales deeply—it smells like laundry deterrent and Christen’s shampoo, and _fuck, _it’s soft and comfortable and fits her perfectly.

She slides back under the covers, and then mumbles sleepily into the room, “Jill is going to murder you for missing practice today.” 

Christen whispers back, “Don’t care.”

Tobin knows she should leave it at that, knows she should really just go to sleep, but she can’t stop herself. It’s dark and she’s warm again and Christen is _here _so she says, into the space between them, “You really are an angel.”

Christen lets out a breathy laugh. “And you are obviously still a little feverish.”

Tobin doesn’t reply, just smiles to herself.

She doesn’t have a fever anymore.

She’s feeling better than she has all day.

:::

**two**

:::

It’s new and nerve wrecking—this whole thing between them.

Tobin has liked girls before, has been _in love _with girls before, but it’s really… well, it’s really never been like this.

Watching Christen walk towards her in the late evening light, she feels like she’s sixteen years old all over again; nervous and happy and shy and brave, all at the same time. She shuffles a little awkwardly, runs a hand through her hair, tries not to _stare_—

But Christen is wearing a long, black skirt and a cropped grey top that shows off just a teasing sliver of her midriff. Her hair is down and she’s wearing this insanely cool jacket; rings on her fingers, just a hint of lipstick on her lips—and Tobin can’t fucking breathe.

“Hi,” Christen says.

It really takes a second. “Hey,” Tobin croaks out when she’s finally gathered enough oxygen in her lungs to speak. “_Wow_—you look—” She can’t even find the words. “Very… Yeah.”

“_Very yeah_?” Christen repeats with a grin. “Eloquent as always.”

She’s blushing, though. Despite the low light, Tobin can tell. And she can tell that Christen’s breathing is just the slightest bit high in her chest, the way it gets before difficult games, the way it gets when she’s overwhelmed by all the chaos of their team and feeling anxious.

It instantly softens everything, and Tobin wants to reach out and brush her fingers through Christen’s hair—

Wants to be closer, already—

Still can’t believe she gets to go on a date with _Christen Press_—

So, she tries to be a little bit braver than she feels; stepping forward, just the slightest bit untimed, and quickly kisses Christen’s cheek. 

When she pulls back, she has to steady herself, and her fingers end up brushing against the bare skin of Christen’s side, and they both inhale a little sharply at the contact.

And then Christen is smiling so widely that Tobin can feel her whole heart soar up to the freaking sky.

“Ready to go?” Christen says.

All she can do is nod.

:::

They end up in a wine bar—classy and beautiful, with high tables and low lighting and _good _wine, and it might be one of the nicest places, Tobin’s ever been taken to on a date. They’re on their second glass, have been talking about soccer a lot. It might not be the most romantic topic but they both kind of need it to calm their nerves, to find their usual rhythm, despite the fact that everything else feels so brand-new.

It had been an almost accidental confession—

They’d been celebrating winning their latest game, and in the midst of the chaos, they’d slipped out and made their way out to the rooftop swimming pool of the hotel, just the two of them.

They’d sat with their bare legs dangling in the water, still in their soccer shorts, and Christen had kissed her—just like that.

It had been soft and hot and just the slightest bit needy, and then she’d whispered against Tobin’s lips, “Go out with me some time.”

And now—

Tobin can barely believe that this is really happening.

She’s been brushing her hand against Christen’s for the last half hour already, too shy to hold it for real, but drawing soft lines over her fingers all the same. They’re slowly moving away from the topic of soccer—not quite, but just a little bit—making the space between them feel smaller, more intimate.

Tobin can track the tension in every part of her body. But it’s good tension; the kind that makes her score goals, the kind that makes her feel like she can do anything. 

“Remember that one game in college?” Christen says, after a slow sip of her wine. “The NCAA final—when I was junior and you were a senior. And we lost because my goal in the 89th minute was ruled offside?”

Tobin smiles softly. “Yeah, I remember that game.”

“I was so mad,” Christen says with a laugh. “I wanted to win so bad, and that whole game was chaos, and you were so _good_—and…” She sighs in frustration. “Losing to you was always the worst.”

“Yeah?” Tobin inches forward just a little bit. “Why?”

“Because…” Christen says, taking the slightest pause before admitting softly, “I liked you so much.”

It catches a little bit in Tobin’s throat. “You did?”

She nods slowly. “Yeah… God, I was so aware of you, already. Even then. How you played and how you looked and just—just everything.”

Tobin licks at her bottom lip, suddenly feeling a little flustered.

Christen smirks a little. “Is that making you shy?”

Tobin sputters. “N-no, I’m not—”

Christen’s eyes light up even more. She leans in closer. “If it is any help…” she says, slowly, biting down on her bottom lip and dragging Tobin’s gaze right to it. “I liked you, back then… But now, I like you even more.” 

She smiles a little teasingly, and Tobin can’t handle it—

She leans forward, brushes her fingers over Christen’s cheek and kisses her.

It’s soft. Just the lightest push and pull, and Christen tastes of white wine and nachos, and Tobin’s heart nearly gives out.

She has to pull back, before she lets herself get carried away.

“I like you, too,” she says, then, admitting it close to Christen’s lips. “So, _so_ much.”

Christen’s breath hitches, and then she’s closing the gap again. Her fingers tangle in Tobin’s hair and she slipping her tongue into Tobin’s mouth, and they’re in the middle of a bar, and Christen kisses her like she couldn’t care less.

:::

“Can I ask you something?”

They’re walking over the board walk. The sun has set and it’s a little bit chilly, but Christen had grabbed onto Tobin’s hand almost the second they’d left the bar, so Tobin doesn’t really mind the cold, despite the fact that she’s only wearing a thin, black shirt.

Christen hums in acknowledgement. “Yeah, of course.”

“Have you…” It takes Tobin a second to find her nerve. “Have you liked girls before?”

Christen’s eyebrows shoot up just the tiniest bit, like she wasn’t exactly expecting that question. There’s a moment of silence, but then she nods. “Yeah, I have. Mostly in college. But… not really—I mean, I haven’t really _been _with girls before.”

There’s a slight edge to her voice, almost like she’s scared to admit it. Tobin squeezes her hand a little tighter. “But you’ve had feelings for girls before?”

Christen nods, then turns a bit towards her and studies her. “Why do you ask?”

Tobin swallows hard. “I don’t know, I… Well, when we first met, I didn’t think— So, I never really… you know, considered it.” 

There’s a small and teasing smile playing at Christen’s lips. “Are you saying you would have made a move sooner if you knew I was into girls?”

“I mean—” Tobin stutters out. “That’s not… um, well… maybe.”

“_Maybe_?” Christen says, grinning. “I’ve been very obviously flirting with you for, like, the past six months and you didn’t even realize it until I kissed you.”

“Yeah, well,” Tobin says, a little defensively. “Why would I think you’d want to go out with me?”

At that, Christen pauses. “What?”

Too quickly, Tobin realizes she slipped up. “Nothing.”

“No,” Christen says. “Why do you say that?”

She’s stopped walking, is looking at Tobin a little too intently. Tobin glances down, feeling a rush of embarrassment going through her body. “I don’t know,” she mumbles “I’m… I don’t know—”

“Tobin—”

“All I’m good at is soccer,” she rushes out, before Christen can ask her again. “I mean, I’m not good with words and I don’t know how to impress people, and the only thing I do is kick a ball around, and you’re—” Her breath catches. “Chris, you’re so smart and so driven, and when you walk into a room, the whole room changes, because you’re _that _amazing. And so, I just didn’t think—I didn’t think you’d even notice me like that. Didn’t even _consider _that you could be into girls, because what would have been the point?”

It’s way too much.

It’s such a confession that she’s nearly shaking with it. She doesn’t dare to look directly into Christen’s eyes, just keeps staring down at the pavement between them, wishing she could disappear, wishing she could—

Christen’s hands are warm on Tobin’s bare arms as she urges her to look up. “I’m going to say a few things,” she says, “And you need to listen, okay? You need to listen very closely.”

Tobin swallows hard, feels herself become even more tense than before—but then Christen’s lips are on her jaw and she’s kissing Tobin softly, staying just as close when she says, “You’re my favorite person. Do you hear that? My _favorite _person.” She slides her hands down Tobin’s arms until she can intertwine their fingers. “You’re so funny, and you’re so kind. You take such good care of people. You take such good care of _me_. No matter where we are or what we’re doing, you always know exactly how I’m feeling. How to make me calm when I’m feeling anxious, how to make me laugh when I’m upset at myself. God—_Tobin—_”

Her voice cracks a little bit, and she pushes Tobin’s chin up, her eyes bright and serious when she adds, “You _do _know how to impress people, and you _are _good with words. And yes, you’re one _hell _of a soccer player, and I’m so fucking into you—” She shakes her head a little. “I’d be into you even if I’d only ever liked guys all my life, _that_’s how into you I am.”

Tobin’s throat has gone dry. “Chris…”

“I mean it,” she says. “I like you so much that it actually scares me a little bit.”

And _that _is quite the confession, too.

Tobin can feel the words in the air between them, all tense and new, but _good_, too—like things are clicking into place; like she didn’t know she needed any of this, but she does.

She leans in a little closer, her face inches away from Christen’s as she says, “Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Christen breathes out.

And Tobin kisses her; has missed Christen’s mouth on hers since the bar, even though it’s not even been an hour; has the feeling she will never want to kiss anyone else in her whole life ever again, and that’s scary.

Scary but good.

Christen’s arms circle slowly around Tobin’s waist, and Tobin’s stroking her fingers over the back of Christen’s neck—and the whole night seems to fold itself around them, breezy and cold, but perfect and soft. 

She can’t suppress a shiver.

Christen breaks apart. “Are you cold?”

Tobin shakes her head; but Christen is already sliding her own jacket off her shoulders, wrapping it over Tobin’s shoulders. “Put that on.”

With Christen’s bare arms suddenly on display, with the way her top has ridden up a little, exposing just the slightest bit more of her stomach, Tobin feels instantly distracted. She only realizes she’s staring when Christen smirks at her.

“W-won’t you be cold?” Tobin stutters out.

Christen shakes her head, pulls Tobin closer by the jacket. Her lips are teasing against Tobin’s ear when she whispers, “I’m always feeling pretty hot.”

_Fuck._

That’s one way to warm up, Tobin thinks.

Christen kisses her, smiling against her lips.

:::

Later, the jacket ends up on the floor at Tobin’s place—when Christen, who has never been with a girl, gives Tobin the best orgasm of her entire life—and it’s months before she gets the jacket back.

:::

**three.**

:::

“Babe…”

Christen’s voice is soft against Tobin’s neck. Tobin hums, too sleepy to reply, pulling her girlfriend closer instead of opening her eyes. She can feel Christen smile into her shoulder, feels the soft mumble vibrate against her collarbone, when Christen says, “You promised me breakfast before your game, remember?”

“Mm…” she hums, her voice thick with sleep. “Don’t think so, Chris.”

“You did,” Christen says. “Last night. You promised.” 

Tobin might have been bribed into that promise; might not have been thinking entirely clearly when Christen had walked out of the bathroom completely naked and asked if they could go out for breakfast at the new place around the corner in the morning.

“But I wanna stay here,” Tobin mumbles, her hand sliding over Christen’s naked hip. “Wanna be in bed with you.”

“You had me in bed all night.”

Tobin strokes her hand down over Christen’s back, to her ass. “And you think one night is enough for me? I didn’t get to see you for two whole weeks…”

Christen kisses up Tobin’s neck, slow and wet, distracting her just long enough to grab a hold of Tobin’s wandering hand and push it back.

“Hands off,” she whispers against Tobin jaw. 

“_Baby_…”

“Take me out for breakfast and I’ll let you do whatever you want to me after your game.”

Suddenly, Tobin is a lot more awake. “Okay, deal.”

Christen rolls her eyes. “You’re way too easy.” She kisses Tobin hotly, then says, “Only if you win, though. I don’t date losers.”

She grins at Tobin’s shocked face, slides out of the bed before Tobin can grab a hold of her wrist and pull her back. With her hand against the bathroom door, all naked and sexy and _gorgeous_, Christen says, “Be right back, I’m going to take a quick shower.”

“Can I—”

“No.” Christen grins. “You can’t behave, so you’re not allowed to shower with me right now. Go put some clothes on.” 

“Babe…” Tobin groans. “You’re killing me.” 

The bathroom door is already closed. Tobin sighs hard, falling back into the pillows just for a moment. She can’t fight her smile, though.

:::

“Why are you wearing my shirt?”

They’re almost at the corner of the street already.

Tobin grins a little. “What, this? This isn’t your shirt. This is my shirt.”

Christen pulls on the fabric, nudging Tobin’s arm. “Babe, this is from the new Nike collection. This is mine.”

Tobin nudges back. “_Babe_, we’re both sponsored athletes. I swear this is mine.”

Christen’s laugh makes Tobin’s whole heart speed up. “Don’t even try. I packed it yesterday. You took this right out of my suitcase.” 

Tobin wraps her arm around Christen’s shoulder. “Did not.”

“Admit it,” Christen says. “You love wearing my clothes. Just admit it.”

“I will not.”

“My clothes are your _favorite _clothes.”

Tobin laughs. “Your clothes are my favorite clothes when they’re on the floor of my bedroom, baby.”

Christen pushes her hard. “Oh, whatever. Guess I’ll treat myself to breakfast because you’re not getting anything from me today with that attitude.”

Tobin smirks. “Oh, we’ll see about that. Watching me play games usually gets you pretty worked up, doesn’t it?”

Christen flips her off with a grin, before rushing into the little café she wanted to go to and quickly shutting the door behind her—like Tobin can’t just pull it open herself.

It makes Tobin’s whole body feel warm and happy.

She _did_ steal Christen’s shirt.

:::

“How many goals are you going to score for me today?”

“Depends.” Tobin grins. “What’s in it for me?”

Christen kicks Tobin’s foot under the table. “You’ve got _one _thing on your mind today, haven’t you?”

Tobin grabs Christen’s hand, intertwines their fingers across the table. “Just missed you so much.”

At that, Christen’s face softens. “I missed you, too,” she says. “Will you come to Utah next week?”

Tobin grins. “Depends—what’s in it for me?”

“Oh my god—”

Christen leans back into her chair, shaking her head. Tobin brings her cup of coffee to her lips, taking a sip right as Christen says, “Feel like I should just take off my shirt right here. You’d probably come at the sight of my boobs alone.” 

Tobin chokes on her coffee—she genuinely _chokes_. All the blood rises up to her face and she’s coughing, unable to get her breathing under control.

The waiter gives Christen a concerned look. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Christen says, with a casual wave of her hand. “The coffee was just a little hot.” She winks at Tobin. “Wasn’t it, baby?”

When Tobin has finally managed to stop coughing, she breathes out, “I feel like we should test your theory. Take off your shirt.”

“Only if you take off your shirt.” Christen grins. “Oh—excuse me—_my _shirt.”

Tobin laughs, presses a kiss to Christen’s hand. “What, this shirt? This is my shirt.”

:::

Christen kisses Tobin hard against the door, hands on Tobin’s waist, her mouth all hot and demanding—

Tobin can barely keep herself upright, that’s how much the feeling of Christen’s body against hers is affecting her.

“You’ll come watch me play, then?” Tobin pants against Christen’s lips. “Stadium opens at five.”

Christen pretends to think about it. “I actually wanted to go to yoga.”

Tobin flips their bodies, pushing Christen’s wrists up against the wall. Her voice is low when she says, “Thought you wanted me to score for you, baby…”

Christen hums. “But I feel like I should really do some yoga. My body’s been really tight today, you know?”

_God_.

Tobin groans a little bit and Christen licks her bottom lip, smiles like she knows exactly what’s going through Tobin’s mind.

“How about…” Tobin says slowly, her lips against Christen’s neck. “You’ll come watch me play…” She bites and licks at Christen’s pulse point, feels her heart speed up when Christen lets out the softest whimper. “And for each goal I score…” Christen’s body goes soft against hers, her skin heating up all over. “I give you an orgasm…”

Christen’s breathing is quick. “And what if—you don’t score?”

Tobin sucks at the bit of skin just above Christen’s collarbone. “I always score for you.”

“But—” Christen’s voice is hoarse, her fingers sliding up under Tobin’s sweater, nails digging just the slightest bit in Tobin’s skin. “—what if you don’t?”

Tobin rocks her hips forward, the extra bit of pressure is enough to make Christen gasp.

“Never going to happen,” Tobin says, then, pecking Christen quickly on the lips. “You don’t date losers, remember? Gotta go now, baby. Wave at me from the stands?”

She slips past Christen and out of the door as quickly as she can, leaving Christen just frustrated enough.

If she doesn’t make it out of the house now, she’s never going to be on time for that game in the first place.

:::

The stadium is absolutely packed, waves of red, green and black everywhere. The second Tobin steps onto the field, she’s got a good feeling about the night—she feels fit, she feels excited, and not to mention, she _knows _Christen is watching, and that just makes everything better.

It doesn’t take long for her to score.

9th minute and she receives the ball from Lindsey, kicks it up over the defense, and lands it perfectly at the back of the net. She makes her celebratory run, and then, with the whole team surrounding her, she reaches up one finger at the stands, knowing that Christen is watching.

_One._

Her second goal comes just before the end of the first half; 43rd minute, and it’s not as impressive as the first one, a bit of a fight with one of the defenders, but she manages to slide it into the net, anyway.

She’s grinning when she holds up two fingers at the stands, not even caring that she’s on camera, not even caring if anyone can see who she’s scoring for.

_Two, baby_.

She goes into halftime feeling like she’s on top of the world.

Lindsey scores in the 55th minute. They get one goal against in the counter-attack. And then, in the 69th minute—

She’s way too far out, still.

But the ball lands at her feet, and there’s the slightest gap in the defense, so she kicks back her left leg, hits the ball as hard as she can and—

Tobin holds up three of her fingers and she swears she can see Christen blush from here.

:::

Christen strips herself almost completely naked the second they walk through the door, and Tobin feels so worked up already that she can barely stand it. Christen is in nothing but her panties as she lies down on Tobin’s bed in a way that drives Tobin absolutely _crazy_.

_God._

She’s already climbing on top, kissing Christen until her girlfriend is moaning into her mouth; she strokes her fingers up and down Christen’s sides, squeezes her ass, nudges her legs apart even more as she begins to kiss her way down Christen’s neck, towards her boobs.

“Take your shirt off—’ Christen chokes out. “_Fuck_—I mean _my _shirt.”

At that, Tobin almost loses her focus entirely.

She grins, sits up between Christen’s legs, taking a finger and running a long, slow line all the way from Christen’s bottom lip, down her neck, over her collarbone and to her hardened nipple, circling it teasingly. “You’ve already got your shirt off, baby.”

Christen groans, arches her back up into Tobin’s touch. “I hate you so much.”

‘Yeah?” Tobin lowers her mouth to Christen’s chest, licking softly at her nipple. “Seems like you love this, though.”

Christen makes a throaty sort of whine. “You better give me those orgasms you promised.”

“So impatient,” Tobin teases. “I don’t even have my t-shirt off yet.”

“It’s _my—_whatever.” Christen’s inhale is sharp. “If you want to be slow, be slow. I can take care of myself.”

And then—

Just like that, she slides her own hand into her panties and moans loudly.

“_Fuck_—” Tobin’s whole body shudders. “Oh my god, baby…”

Christen bites down on her lip. She speeds up just a little bit and Tobin can see the pleasure play out on her face. Her mouth parts, her lips all wet and swollen as she touches herself just a little bit harder and—

Tobin grabs Christen’s wrist, pulls it up and sucks Christen’s wet fingers into her mouth.

Christen’s eyes go darker at the sight. “You know,” she breathes out, voice just that tiny bit rough that Tobin loves so much. “Since your third goal was in the 69th minute…”

Tobin groans, pulls her t-shirt—Christen’s t-shirt, whatever—off as quickly as she can.

:::

**four**.

:::

It’s not like the team doesn’t know.

Tobin’s not an idiot; they’ll get smirks and looks from the rest of the girls every time they arrive at practice together; Alex has already very obviously stated her approval of this development for the entire locker room to hear, and sometimes, when she misses a ball because she was staring at Christen for a second too long, some of the girls will make fun of it.

But it’s not like a _thing_.

They’ve been trying to keep things lowkey between them during camp. No obvious flirting, no kissing. Sure, sometimes Tobin will brush her hand against Christen’s thigh or Christen will hug her just a second too long—and maybe the rest of the team notices, it’s not like it’s a _secret_, but they try to stay professional as much as they can.

That is, until Tobin makes the mistake of wearing Christen’s shorts to practice.

:::

In her defense—it’s early in the morning, and Tobin doesn’t do well with mornings.

Her legs feel heavy as she gets up out of bed and she’s not really paying attention when she dresses herself for practice. She just needs some coffee. It’s not even until Emily sits down next to her during breakfast and says, “Well, good morning, _Press_” that she even realizes she’s wearing #23 shorts.

She takes another sip of coffee. “Shut up.”

“No,” Emily says with the smuggest grin on her face. “Talk me through this decision-making process. Step by step, please. I want the complete analysis. Let me begin with asking you a leading question. At what point exactly this morning, did you think _hey maybe I should dress up like my wife today—_”

Tobin groans. “Sonnett—”

“I’m just curious,” Emily continues, without missing a beat. “When did this happen? You know, I used to think you were really cool. I used to really admire you. And now it turns out you’re just a whipped little sucker.”

Tobin really has no time for this.

“I’m not whipped,” she mumbles out, but it sounds slightly _too _defensive to be taken seriously.

Clearly, Emily agrees. “Oh no? What about the time when we wanted to go out and all of a sudden you changed your mind because Christen gave you one look, and you—as I recall correctly—were suddenly feeling _very tired_—” She makes air quotes around the words. “What about the time you flew back and forth from Portland to Utah, like, three times in one week, just to watch her play? What about all the times that you tripped over your own freaking soccer ball, just because Christen’s shirt had lifted up the tiniest little bit—”

“The point has been made,” Tobin snaps.

Emily grins wider.

“But seriously, though,” Tobin says. “I’m not wearing this on purpose. Just grabbed the wrong pair of shorts this morning.”

“And all the other times.” Emily nudges Tobin’s shoulder. “You know there are blogs about this, right? Compilation videos, photo galleries—the whole thing.”

Tobin wishes she could disappear.

“—and I get it,” Emily says. “If I were dating Press, I’d be whipped, too.”

“I’m not _whipped_.”

Before Tobin can protest further, Alex drops down in the empty chair next to her. “Oh my god, are you wearing Christen’s shorts again? Why are you so domestic?”

“My point exactly,” Emily says.

“You guys need to stop.”

“No, really. When is the wedding?” Alex says, leaning forward on the table, completely ignoring Tobin’s words. “And when can I expect my first godchild? Have you thought of any names yet? I’ve always thought Alex Press-Heath has a lot of star quality to it.”

“Emily Press-Heath, too,” Emily cuts it. “Or maybe Emily Heath-Press? Both work really well, I guess.”

“Of course, you could always combine names,” Alex says, so fucking pleased with herself that Tobin wants to smack her. “Alex Preath, for example. Emily Preath—that’s got a really nice ring to it, too.”

“I’m going to kill both of you,” Tobin says.

She’s blushing harder than she wants. From the other side of the breakfast room, she can see Christen, who is sitting next to Kelley, frown at her in confusion. Tobin quickly glances down again.

And then Alex waves at Christen, and Christen smiles back like she doesn’t really know what else to do.

“Looks like your girlfriend thinks it’s a great idea,” Alex says, and Tobin nearly pushes her off her chair.

:::

“What was that about?” Christen asks as they’re jogging back and forth across the pitch for warm-up. “With Emily and Alex.”

Tobin can feel her face go red. “Nothing, they were just being annoying.”

Christen’s smile is teasing. “Oh yeah? What did they say?”

Tobin speeds up just a little bit, not really wanting Christen to know that she’s blushing. “Doesn’t matter, babe. Just stupid stuff.”

She sprints the last part to the line and comes to a stop.

Christen studies her with a smile. “Come on, tell me. You look flustered.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m running,” Tobin says, deflecting.

Christen puts her arms up, stretching. “Is it because you’re wearing my shorts?”

Tobin scoffs like that is the most ridiculous thing. “What—_no_. Of course not. Why… why would you—think that?” She blinks hard, then adds, “You noticed I’m wearing your shorts?”

Christen’s eyes are bright in the early morning sun. “I always notice when you wear my clothes,” she says with a smile, before taking off again and sprinting to the other side of the field.

From the corner of her eyes, Tobin can see Alex and Sonnett grinning.

:::

By the end of the practice session, not only Alex and Emily are making fun of Tobin, but also—dragged on board with the joke—Kelley, Lindsey and Sam, _obviously_, but also Mal, of all people.

Somehow, Christen doesn’t seem to mind at all.

She just grins along with the rest of the team whenever someone mumbles something under their breath; smirks and winks at Tobin when she thinks other people aren’t looking. 

It’s extremely frustrating—to the point where Tobin is completely pissed off when they’re finally released to enjoy the rest of their day.

She stays on the pitch when everyone else disappears into the locker room to change.

“Everything okay?” Christen says, trailing behind.

Tobin tries to force a smile. “Yeah, yeah—just go ahead. I’m going to shoot on goal for a bit longer.”

Christen frowns a little, but doesn’t question it. She disappears into the locker room with the rest of the team.

Tobin lines up as many soccer balls as she can finds and shoots them into the net, one after the other. Then she kicks them all back into the line and starts again, over and over—clearing her thoughts, focusing on soccer until most of the frustration begins to fade, until she feels a little bit calmer again.

She accidentally kicks one of the balls over the goal, cursing at herself for having to go get it. But then it soars back, and Christen makes her way onto the pitch again, freshly showered, her hair up in a high ponytail.

Tobin feels her heart soften a little bit.

“Hey,” she says.

Christen walks up to her, wraps her arms around Tobin’s waist and kisses her. “Hi.”

Tobin shuffles back just the slightest bit, glancing around, a little self-consciously. “Where’s everyone?”

“Don’t care,” Christen mumbles. “Just wanted to kiss you.”

The soft confession of it makes Tobin’s whole chest heat up. She strokes a loose strand of Christen’s hair behind her ear. “Sorry I got all grumpy before…”

Christen leans into her touch. “That’s okay. It didn’t bother me.” She presses her lips against Tobin’s cheek. “What happened, though? You looked really annoyed.”

“They were making fun of me for wearing your shorts…” Tobin mumbles, glancing down at the ground. “And I know it’s stupid—they were just messing around. But it really got to me.”

Christen’s face goes a bit more serious. “Why, though? Why is it getting to you?”

Tobin shrugs, taps her studs against the pitch, trying to find a way to say it. “I don’t—I don’t know,” she says, before adding, “Just feels like they don’t take it seriously. Don’t take _us _seriously. And I hate that, because I’m…” She forces herself to meet Christen’s eyes. “Because I’m so serious about you.”

Christen inhales deeply. “I’m serious about you, too.” She presses another kiss to Tobin’s jaw. “But, babe, they say those things because they _do _take it seriously. Because they feel like we are good together, so good that they can joke about it—because we’re not going to break up, and they can see that.” She smiles. “They make those jokes because they can tell that you’re happy with me—and they’re just happy that you’re happy.”

Tobin is quiet for a second. “You think so?”

“Yes, of course.” Christen smiles. “Do you know how often Kelley and Becky tease me for being so into you? They do it because they can tell. They can tell that I’m fucking in love with you…”

At that, Tobin can’t suppress her smile. “You’re in love with me?”

Christen grins. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.” She runs her fingers up Tobin’s arms. “Besides, you’re even more in love with me, so…”

“Oh, you think that?”

Christen ignores Tobin’s smug smile, pulls on the strings of Tobin’s shorts instead. “You’re not wearing my shorts just for fun, baby.”

Tobin bites on her lip. “True…”

“In fact,” Christen says, stepping closer. “I’ve got the feeling that you’re doing it to make a statement.”

Tobin’s throat goes a little bit dry. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Christen’s smile turns flirty. “You wear my clothes because you _want _other people to see. Because you’re a little possessive… Because you want them to notice that I’m yours. That you get to wear my clothes whenever you want, because what’s mine belongs to you. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Tobin swallows hard, feeling caught. “Maybe…” she whispers, trying not to sound too breathless. “Maybe a little bit.”

Christen bites down on her bottom lip. “It’s a good thing that I think it’s fucking hot when you’re possessive like that.”

There’s only just a fraction of a second when they’re looking at each other, and then they’re kissing; right in the middle of the soccer pitch, with Christen’s arms around Tobin’s neck and Tobin still wearing her #23 shorts.

:::

The next day at practice, she wears them again.

:::

**(one)**

:::

Tobin hates media day.

She loves talking about Portland, about her team, about soccer—but she hates the rest of it; the annoying reporters, the cameras, the endless meetings. There are so many dumb questions and there is so much attention on her, and she hates that the day just seems to drag on and on.

She wishes she was on the pitch, actually playing.

Or, at home.

In her bed—

With her girlfriend—

Who has been dropping an endless stream of not-so-subtle hints over text message for the past half hour.

It started innocently enough, just Christen texting her she couldn’t wait until Tobin would get home later.

But then things got a little bit more intense.

Christen has gone from _I’m bored _to _when are you going to be here to go down on me? _real quick—and Tobin’s trying to focus on which reporter she still needs to talk to, but her phone keeps buzzing against her thigh, and it’s honestly driving her a little bit insane.

She can’t concentrate.

Her mind keeps drifting off to whatever Christen is doing right now; whether she’s in bed or not; how many clothes she’s still wearing; this one look she always gets in her eyes—the one Tobin recognizes better than anything else—when she’s so fucking turned on, just wet and ready and needy—

“Heath?”

Mark is giving her a look.

“_What_? Sorry—” Tobin quickly rushes to say. “What was the question?”

This is a disaster.

:::

She texts Christen the second she’s parked her car.

_Almost home._

The reply only takes about 10 seconds: _waiting for you in bed._

Tobin swears under her breath. She hurries into the building, rushing up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. She seriously has no time for that. She fumbles a little with her keys; her heart is racing in her throat and her fingers are shaking, and she’s just so _tense _already, it’s ridiculous.

When she walks into her own apartment, the lights are off everywhere except the bedroom. The door is half open.

Tobin drops her bag on the floor, knowing that Christen can hear that she’s home. She kicks her boots off and hurries out of her jacket, before making her way across the dark hallway to her bedroom.

She pushes the door open slowly, readying herself and—

_Fuck._

Just—_fuck_…

Christen is sitting up against the headboard of the bed; her hair is down and curly, the way Tobin likes it best, she’s got a book on her lap, pretending to be very into whatever she’s reading, and she’s dressed in—

Nothing but a pair of Tobin’s Supreme boxers. 

_Fuck_.

At the sound of the door opening further, Christen looks up, smiles coyly. “Hi, babe.”

Tobin can’t speak.

She drags her gaze over Christen’s body; her soft thighs, spread just that extra little bit to make Tobin immediately feel hot all over; the glowing skin of her stomach, fine lines of her abs; her hair falling in long curls down her exposed neck; her boobs, all _gorgeous _and perfect, nipples just the slightest bit hard, already—

And then the boxers—

The white and red a perfect contrast against Christen’s dark skin; the way the seams touch her hips just _perfectly_, the fact that they’re Tobin’s—

That the only thing that is on Christen’s body belongs to Tobin—

Christen grins. “I was just reading a bit before bed,” she says, breezily. “Didn’t think you’d be home so soon.”

Tobin feels like she’s going to pass out. She takes a step closer to the bed, still not saying anything. And, then, slowly, Christen moves the book aside, puts it away on the nightstand and slides down a little deeper into the pillows.

Her legs fall open and Tobin chokes—

The little patch of fabric at the front of Christen’s boxers is dark and wet. 

She’s on the bed in seconds, settling herself between Christen’s thighs. “Baby…” She slides her fingers over the insides of Christen’s thighs. “Are you so worked up for me already?”

Christen hums. “Who says I’m worked up?”

Tobin slides her fingers just the slightest bit higher, over the seam of the boxershorts. “Hm…” she says lowly. “Looks like you’re all ready for me.”

Christen’s breathing stutters a bit. Still, she’s composed enough to counter, “Maybe I just want to go to sleep.”

Tobin strokes her thumb right over Christen’s clit, and Christen _moans_.

“Doesn’t sound like it, baby,” she mumbles. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

Christen’s whole body contracts. She tries to keep quiet for a moment longer, but Tobin adds the slightest bit of pressure—and then Christen can’t keep up her act anymore.

She pulling on Tobin’s shirt, dragging her closer, wrapping her legs around Tobin’s hips and kissing her hard. Tobin sinks into it, licking into Christen’s mouth, before breaking apart so she can pull her own t-shirt up over her head. Just as quickly, she manages to get herself out of her jeans—and then, she’s on top of Christen, licking a long wet line across Christen’s neck as she presses her leg between Christen’s spread thighs.

“Fuck,” Christen chokes out, grinding herself harder against Tobin’s body. “Baby—_please_.”

“Tell me,” Tobin says. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to be naked.” She’s already unhooking Tobin’s bra with quick fingers, her mouth hot and demanding on Tobin’s neck, before slipping her hands under the waistband of Tobin’s underwear. “Please, babe,” she whines. “_Off_.”

Tobin smirks, drags her underwear down her legs, until she’s naked, and then she straddles Christen’s hips.

“You know,” she says with a grin. “Usually, I’d say the same, but you’re looking so hot in my boxers that I think I want you to keep them on for a little bit longer.”

Christen smirks up at her. “You think I’m hot?”

Tobin groans. “So fucking hot.” 

And then she’s leaning down and kissing Christen again, feels herself slick against Christen’s thigh as she slides one of her hands up Christen’s ribs. She rolls Christen’s nipples between her fingers, just the way her girlfriend likes it—soft enough to make her arch into it for more pressure, hard enough to make her gasp and swear and buck her hips.

“_Fuck—_” Christen chokes out as Tobin replaces her fingers with her tongue, sucking a nipple into her mouth. “God—Tobin—I need—”

Her fingers fist in Tobin’s hair, tugging just the slightest bit, and Tobin is already kissing down Christen’s stomach, lower and lower.

She pauses for a second—

Admiring the sight of Christen all spread open for her like this—

And then she licks at Christen’s clit, still covered by the boxers, but so clearly visible with how wet the fabric is.

Christen’s makes a sound that makes Tobin’s whole body go tight.

She licks again, using her mouth to make the fabric even wetter—loving every single noise that leaves Christen’s throat; loving the way she’s pushing herself against Tobin’s face.

“Do you want more?” Tobin asks, pulling back for a second.

Christen is too breathless to respond, pushes Tobin’s face down against her pussy.

“Chris…” Tobin says lowly. “Do you want more, baby?”

“_Fuck_,” Christen swears. “Yes—I—give me more.” 

It only takes a moment. Tobin drags the boxers down Christen’s legs and Christen falls back into the pillows, lifts her hips, and then Tobin’s mouth is back where it was, and she can _taste _how wet Christen is, can feel the slick of her against her chin—

She wants to build her girlfriend up slow and steady, just with her tongue.

But clearly, Christen has other ideas.

“Need your fingers,” she chokes out. “Babe, I need—”

Instead of giving in, Tobin sucks on Christen’s clit and Christen’s thighs clench hard around her head.

Tobin leans back a little bit with a smirk. “What was that, baby? I didn’t hear you.”

“Tobin…” Christen whines. “Don’t tease. I’m already so—”

Tobin brings her fingers up, traces long lines over the inside of Christen’s thighs.

“If you want it, be a good girl and ask me nicely,” she whispers, knowing just how much _that _gets to Christen.

“_Fuck_,” Christen breathes out. “Just—”

Tobin slowly circles Christen’s clit with her fingers. “Say it.”

“Fuck me…” Christen says, finally giving in. “_Please_. Want your fingers and your mouth, just fuck me, please—”

Tobin is sliding two fingers in easily, and Christen nearly sobs with relief. Her hands clench tighter into the sheets as Tobin licks circles around Christen’s clit, whispering _good girl_, whispering _you’re so beautiful_, whispering _I love you_. 

When Christen comes for the first time, Tobin hasn’t nearly had enough yet.

She fucks her through it slowly, leaning back, unable to stop staring at the sight of her girlfriend falling apart in front of her.

Then, she pushes Christen’s leg up until it’s leaning against her shoulder and begins to build her up again.

When she comes for the second time, it makes Tobin’s whole body tremble. And then, Christen is grinning up at her, the most blissful smile on her face, right before she begins to pull on Tobin’s thighs, saying, “Up” until Tobin is straddling her face.

Christen makes her come with her mouth only—and then, for good measure, she makes Tobin come a second time, too, this time with Tobin’s face down in the pillow, and Christen fucking into her from behind.

:::

There’s a moment, after, when they’re curled around each other, all sleepy and worn-out and just the slightest bit sweaty still. Christen’s drawing soft circles on the skin of Tobin’s hips, and Tobin takes the risk, just breathes the words out into the air between them.

“Move in with me.”

Christen is silent for a second. Then, she says, “What?”

Tobin is suddenly nervous. “I’m just saying—you’re here so often, already. And I know you’ve got to be in Utah, obviously. But you could fly back and forth. And I would, too—of course. To come watch you play. But I just feel like… Like this is our home. And I want to live with you… Like, properly. Here.” 

Christen’s smile is so wide. “You want to live with me?”

“Well, yeah.” Tobin knows that she’s blushing. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Christen says, pulling herself impossibly closer to Tobin’s body. And then she’s rushing out, “_Yes_. Tobin, yes, of course. I don’t want to be anywhere else. God, I love you. I love you so much.”

Tobin is smiling so hard, her whole body light with happiness. “Can’t wait to have all of your stuff here.”

At that, Christen laughs. “You just want to steal my clothes.”

“Well, clearly I’m not the only one who likes that… ” Tobin grins, drifts her fingers slowly between Christen’s legs as a reminder.

“We’ll just have to share a closet, I guess,” Christen says. “Problem solved.”

“That’s very gay, Chris.”

Christen presses a kiss to Tobin’s lips, smiling into it.

“Exactly.” 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: 
> 
> You’re very welcome for the mental image of CP in Supreme boxers and nothing else. 
> 
> Also, sorry not sorry for basically breaking the fourth wall in that scene with Emily and Alex lol. 
> 
> Finally, this may seem very obvious, but it should still be emphasized that yes, indeed, there is just no way that Chris does not have at least a little bit of a praise kink, in this essay I will—
> 
> Let me know your thoughts in the comments. 
> 
> Or come tell me on my new tumblr that I still struggle to use effectively: e-lec-tric-in-di-go. Hit me up with prompts if you have any!


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